


Aftermath

by Sundance201



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, I Love You Scene (Sherlock: The Final Problem), Library Sex, Post-The Final Problem, an abundance of i love yous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2019-03-05 10:11:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13385631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sundance201/pseuds/Sundance201
Summary: Sherlock is desperate to have Molly understand what happened at Sherrinford, but doesn't feel like he has the right to approach her. He wants her to come to him in her own time.When she does, it goes much better than he was expecting.





	Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

  * For [minthegreen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/minthegreen/gifts), [Lono](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lono/gifts), [lokiilockk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lokiilockk/gifts).



> In honor of the "I love you" anniversary today, I finally finished this piece that I have basically been toying with for a year. It's not actually the piece that I set out to write...but I still am fairly pleased with it. Hope that you enjoy, and happy anniversary, Sherlolly shippers!

At first, he debated about going to Molly’s. With 221B blown up, it was the only other place that he could think of that felt safe…felt like home. But he couldn’t go to her, not after what he’d done.

Mycroft’s house was the next best option. John had been taken to the safe house that Anthea had ushered little Rosie Watson and Mrs. Hudson off to right after the explosion – Sherlock knew he would also be welcome and there’d be plenty of room, but he needed to be alone.

That was a lie. He needed to be with her. But he didn’t deserve to be with her.

So instead he sat in Mycroft’s guest bedroom, his skin pink and sensitive from the near-scalding shower he’d taken in an attempt to wash away the trials of the day. He fiddled with his phone, clicking on her text thread and reading through their last text exchange.

_Popping into a Tesco before I come over. Need anything?_

_No. See you soon._

_Liar, I know that you need milk. You were going to ask John to get it…again. Be there in a few. x_

It’d been while she was on Sherlock-duty a few weeks ago. She’d spent the night at Baker Street…he’d held her while they slept. He sighed deeply, his eyes clenching shut as he fell back on the bed, curling in on himself. He opened his eyes, reading the messages over again and nearly without thinking, his thumbs typed out a message to her.

_I’m staying at Mycroft’s for the foreseeable future. Please visit when convenient._

He stayed awake for as long as he could, staring at the screen and waiting for her reply. Before exhaustion finally took him, he realized that he probably shouldn’t have texted her at 3am if he wanted an answer.

 

* * *

 

He slept like the dead until the next morning, when his ringing mobile finally woke him. “H’lo?”

“Sherlock, hey, it’s just me. Mrs. Hudson’s cooked up a veritable feast and she’s insisting that you come over. And Molly too, of course. We figured that we could all use some time together.”

“Not with Molly,” he muttered.

“Wait…what? What do you mean you’re not with Molly? Isn’t that where you went last night? I assumed that’s why you didn’t come to the safe house with me.” Sherlock could hear Rosie babbling in the background and a small smile tugged at his lips.

“Couldn’t go to her…I can’t…intrude. I can’t ask anything of her anymore. Not after what I did.”

John sighed. Sherlock sat up in bed, his hand rubbing over his face. “I swear to god, Sherlock. If you would just listen to me…”

“I am listening to you, John.”

“Not now, you idiot. What I said to you in Baker Street. I get it now. Irene isn’t that woman. She’s The Woman, but she’s not the woman who inspires you to be better. She’s not the woman who makes you whole.” John paused, calming himself down. Sherlock heard him take a deep breath and he waited. “She’s not Molly Hooper.”

“Making deductions left and right now, aren’t you, John? Glad to see my time with you has taught you something,” Sherlock said, deflecting as best he could.

“Shut up, Sherlock. Just shut up and go to her.”

“I did text,” he said defensively. “What if…what if she doesn’t want to see me?”

John sighed. “She might not. But you have to at least try, Sherlock.” There was silence on the other end of the line and finally John spoke up again. “Just go, Sherlock. Come round to the safe house afterwards. I told Mrs. Hudson everything. She’s worried about you.”

Sherlock chuckled. “On your own head – enjoy the mothering, John.”

“Sherlock?” Sherlock hummed a vague reply, acknowledging that he was listening. “Good luck.”

“Thank you, John.”’

 

* * *

 

By the time that he headed downstairs, Mycroft was waiting for him. “Didn’t hear you come in last night.”

“Only came in an hour after you did, according to the security footage. You were already shut away in the guest room.”

Sherlock merely grunted, opening each and every cabinet in search of something edible. “Good god, Mycroft. It’s worse than my flat.”

“I’m hardly ever here. What’s the point?” Mycroft watched as Sherlock finished searching the kitchen and began to pace. “Sherlock,” Mycroft said, in a tone much softer than what he usually used with his younger brother. “Stop.”

“Don’t. Whatever you’re about to say, just don’t.”

“I’m sure there are plenty of other kitchens in London for you to raid. One I can think of in particular…” Mycroft said, far too lightly.

“I can’t, Mycroft,” Sherlock growled. “I texted her last night and she has yet to text back; ergo, she wants nothing to do with me.”

“Or perhaps she realized that this is a face-to-face conversation. Considering the last one…” Sherlock whipped around and glared at Mycroft, who held up his hands, placating his little brother. “I may not know much about what you’re experiencing, but I believe that it is best handled in person, not through text.”

Sherlock glared. “Have you scheduled our little chat with our parents yet?” he asked, rapidly changing the subject.

Mycroft sighed and crossed his arms. “They’re coming into town tomorrow. I expect that you’ll be there. But don’t think that the rapid change of subject will deter me.”

“Christ!” Sherlock shouted, turning on his heel and finally facing Mycroft straight on. “You’re worse than John! At least I was able to hang up on him!” He stormed out of the kitchen. “I don’t deserve to talk to her, Mycroft. I can’t demand any more of her time. I don’t deserve…her. Alright? I know that. I’ve never deserved her.”

He grabbed his coat (one of his copies, and not for the first time since he set foot inside of his brother’s home, he silently thanked Anthea) and threw it on. “I need air. Or a cigarette. Possibly both.”

He flung open the front door and was greeted by a small squeak and a very familiar figure jumping back slightly. “Molly,” he breathed, almost in awe.

“Sherlock,” she said quietly. Immediately, his eyes drank in everything about her. Not deducing her, no, just…looking. She looked ill. Her eyes were red and puffy, her skin was splotchy. She was wearing a dark grey sweater and black skinny jeans and he’d never seen her look so…sad. So dark. “I got your text. I…should have texted back. But instead I just came and you were just heading out, so that’s fine…”

She trailed off and looked down, her foot scuffing the pavement. It was like the woman standing in front of him was the Molly that he had first met, the one who was quiet and shy and uncertain. He couldn’t bear it. Without thinking, he reached out and grabbed her hand. She gasped and nearly flinched away from him, only staying put at the last second. Her breathing was unsteady as she finally looked up at him. “Molly, please, come in.”  

She bit her lip and allowed Sherlock to pull her inside. She’d been to Mycroft’s home a few times before, most recently after Sherlock's fall from the Bart’s rooftop, and before that…while he was deep within his drug habit. He didn’t remember most of their trips here, but he does have a distinct memory of leaning on Molly, standing in this foyer.

“Ah, Miss Hooper,” Mycroft said, coming out of the kitchen. “I was just leaving. Please feel free to make yourself at home.” He nodded to her and sent Sherlock a meaningful look. Sherlock resisted the urge (barely) to stick his tongue out at him. Good to see that he hadn’t changed his feelings too much then.

Mycroft swiftly exited his home and left Sherlock and Molly alone, standing in the entry hall. “John called me. He told me the basics. About your sister and how she…the things she did. But he didn’t say-”

“My call to you was one of her tests, yes,” he said. “Molly…would you like to go sit? We don’t…we don’t have to have this conversation while standing in Mycroft’s hallway.” She nodded and followed him deeper into the house, into Mycroft’s small library. He gestured to the settee for Molly and then sat down in the chair opposite her. Her hands folded in her lap, her fingers moving, lacing and unlacing together.

“She said that she had rigged your home with explosives,” Sherlock started out and Molly gasped, paling at the thought. “She didn’t! There aren’t any explosives, Molly. It’s is perfectly safe. At least…I think it is. I should probably call Lestrade and have the Yard come and make sure…” he said, trailing off.

He looked over to Molly and noticed she’d gone pale. “It’s fine, Molly; I’m sure it’s fine. She told me…she said at the end that you were never in any danger.” Her hands were still trembling and Sherlock mentally kicked himself for not planning out this conversation. He took a deep breath and decided it was best not to dwell. He needed to get this out – they both needed it. “She told me that the release code…you had to say the release code. It was written on top of a coffin. Your coffin, Molly.” His voice sounded like it had been dragged along broken glass. She looked up at him then, her big eyes studying him.

“John said you went a bit mad. Destroyed it.” She glanced down at his hands, wrapped in bandages.

He nodded. She leaned forward and grabbed one of his hands, her fingertip tracing over the edge of the bandage. He held his breath and didn’t want to move, for fear of startling her. “So you had to get me to say it…to save me?”

He nodded. She pursed her lips and smiled sadly, still tracing the bandages. “Ok. That’s…fine. It’s fine. I know you don’t.” She looked up to him, smiling sadly. “I know you don’t.”

He shook his head, suddenly overcome with desperation, feeling that same sort of sinking fear that he had felt when he was on the phone with her. The fear that he was losing her forever. “But I do, Molly,” he whispered.

Her gaze sharpened. “Don’t, Sherlock. Don’t do it unless you mean it. This isn’t over the phone. I can see you.” She paused, dropping his hand. “I can _see_ you.”

He nodded, taking a deep breath. “I know, Molly. You’ve always been able to see me. You’re the only one…the only one who could.” He paused. She deserved to know. “I could…during the phone call. I could see you. There were cameras in your flat. She hadn’t put explosives, but she had put cameras.”

“Oh god,” she whispered, going pale again. “You could see me?”

He nodded. “I thought…if I couldn’t get you to say it, I thought I would have to watch. She’d make me watch as she blew up your flat…as she took you from me.” Molly gasped, her eyes going glassy with unshed tears.

He slid from the chair, onto his knees in front of her. “I love you, Molly. Saying the words out loud just made me realize they were true. That’s why I said it twice. The first time I said it like I meant it, like you asked. And the second time…the second time I said it _because_ I meant it.”

Her tears were falling in earnest now and he had no idea what to do. But Molly, sweet, kind, loving Molly, knew exactly what to do. She leaned forward, her hands cupping his cheeks, and touched her forehead to his. “Say it again.”

“I love you, Molly.”

“Again.”

“I love you, Molly. I love you. I’ll say it for as long as you allow me to. I’ll feel it for even longer.”

Her eyes had closed, but he kept his wide open, watching her like a hawk. Tears leaked from her eyes and tentatively, his thumbs came up to brush them away. She smiled softly and turned her head, kissing his palm. She opened her eyes and they sparkled in a way that he hadn’t seen in a very long time. “I love you, Sherlock,” she whispered, so softly that he would have missed it if his entire world didn’t revolve around her in that very minute.

She smiled brightly. “I love you.” She giggled and he leaned forward slowly, giving her plenty of time to move away if she wanted to. But once his lips met hers, he knew that he never wanted her to move away from him again. He’d spend a lifetime getting Molly Hooper to stay by his side.

When they broke apart, she was still grinning. “I’d wished that I could have done that the first time. The first time you said it, I didn't think it was true, but the second time...I wished I could have seen you. I wished that I could have kissed you.” Her thumb brushed against his bottom lip carefully.

“I didn’t think it was still true,” Sherlock whispered. Molly pulled back slightly so that she could look at him properly. “I didn’t think you still loved me. Why would you?”

She shook her head, her thumb stroking against his cheekbone. “Silly man. Silly, silly man.” Leaning forward, her lips brushed against his ear. “Of course it’s still true.”

“Say it again?” He was the one who asked this time, his voice sounding small and vulnerable, unlike her request.

He could feel her lips curl up into a smile as she nuzzled against him. Her fingers threaded through his hair, her fingernails scratching against his scalp. Sherlock moaned softly, leaning into her, his hands bracing themselves against her thighs. “I love you, Sherlock Holmes.” She kissed his jaw gently and whispered again, “I love you.”

“Oh Molly,” he whispered, surging forward and wrapping his arms around her, pulling her to the edge of the settee. “I was terrified. I couldn’t think straight. I just knew that I couldn’t lose you,” he whispered, his face buried in her neck.

“You didn’t. You didn’t lose me, Sherlock. I’m fine. I’m safe,” she murmured, reassuringly.

He leaned back, his clear blue eyes completely focused on her. “And you love me,” he said, still the slightest hint of a question in his tone.

She nodded and grinned. “And I love you.” She leaned forward and gently kissed him. She leaned back only a second later though, her nose scrunched. “Your knees must be killing you. Come here.”

Sherlock blinked, barely even registering that he was still kneeling on the wooden floor of the library. Slowly, he moved up onto the couch and was more than a little bit surprised when Molly pushed him back and practically draped herself over him.  

“Does Mycroft have cameras in here?” she asked as she climbed into his lap, straddling him as he gazed up at her in confusion.

“Just a closed circuit system. I…I know how to get into it,” he stammered, distracted by the warm weight of her against his thighs. His head was craned up at her at an uncomfortable angle, but he found it very hard to care as he watched her process his statement and then come to a conclusion. She reached up and pulled her hair out of her ponytail and whipped off her jumper.

She stopped and looked down at him, at his stillness and she suddenly became Mousy Molly again, instead of the sex goddess that had perched herself on his lap. That wouldn’t do. His arms wrapped around her back and he sat up, so his back was against the back of the settee and he could put his feet down on the floor. He kept her right where she was though, on his lap and pressed tightly against him.

“I love you,” he murmured. He leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on her lips.  His hands traced patterns on her back, before moving up and brushing against the clasp of her bra. “May I take off your bra, Molly?”

She giggled and he, for once, let warmth blossom in his chest at the sound, instead of trying to lock it away like he usually did. He let Molly’s warmth flow through him and he didn’t want it to ever stop. “So formal,” she teased. He grinned back at her.

But she turned serious when he didn’t make another move. Something came over her, a weight settled in her eyes. It wasn’t bad, but it was something much heavier than the playful teasing that they had been engaged in moments before. “Yes, Sherlock. You may.” She leaned forward, kissing him gently. “I’m yours.”

His nimble fingers had the clasp undone only seconds after she gave him the green light and then they traveled to her shoulders, urging the straps down so that the entire garment came off easily. “I love you, Molly,” he whispered, kissing the top of her right breast and then moving to her left, repeating the same action and the same words. “I love you.”

Her fingers curled against his shoulders, biting into his flesh with just the right amount of pain. He hissed as he moved up her body, kissing her collarbone, the base of her neck, the little mole just under her jaw. He whispered her name and how much he loved her with each kiss.

Abruptly, she stood up and her hands flew to her jeans. “We need to be so much more naked for this to work.” He let out a sharp bark of laughter and she looked up at him, reflecting his mad genius grin back at him. It looked particularly alluring on her.

He followed suit and stood, quickly shedding his pajama shirt and bottoms. He bent down and even grabbed his socks, pulling them off one by one. Molly had been frantically pulling off her own clothing and soon stood before him, both of them just as naked as the day they were born. Sherlock stepped forward, his arm curling around Molly’s waist, as he pulled her close. “I love you,” he whispered.

“You know, one day, it might get old hearing you say that,” she teased, standing on her tiptoes in order to kiss him.

“Do you think so?” he questioned, spinning her around so that the back of her legs brushed against the settee. She giggled and sat down, reclining back against the plush fabric and then holding out her arms towards Sherlock. It was a tight squeeze, but he managed to follow her down, arranging himself on top of her.

She shrugged, biting her lip impishly. “Probably not, actually. But I’ve got to try and keep you humble.”

He chuckled, nuzzling against her shoulder and pressing soft kisses against the skin there. “Are we moving too fast?” he asked, knowing that it wasn’t the usual way of things to be colleagues and then friends for ten years, to being forced to say “I love you,” to shagging in less than 24 hours.

Molly giggled. “Bit late for that now, even if we were, don’t you think?” Her hands were on his shoulders and she squeezed. Her foot came up and rubbed against his calf as well. He tried not to hold back the moan that bubbled up in his throat at the feel of her. “Are you sure you want to be doing this in Mycroft’s library?”

His grin became absolutely wicked. One of his hands wedged its way between Molly’s back and the settee, pulling her hips up and closer to him. “Oh yes. That I am absolutely sure of.”

“You’re a git,” she accused, the giggling taking the sting out of her words. He grinned down at her. She quieted and her hands ran up and down his arms. One stopped at his shoulder and then moved down to his chest and pressed against his heart.

Sherlock leaned down and brushed his lips against hers. “Yours, Molly. For as long as you want it.”

“You’ve always had mine,” she whispered.

“I’m sorry I haven’t always been the best keeper of it,” he whispered, darkness clouding his eyes as all of the terrible things he’d put her through were brought into sharp relief in his mind.

Molly’s hand traveled over his chest and she playfully tugged on his nipple, bringing him out of his self-hating reverie. “Hey. My heart has fared just fine, Sherlock Holmes. It’s still beating. And it still loves you.”

He grinned at her, lowering himself onto his elbows, resting more of his weight against her. Molly sighed happily beneath him. “You astound me, Molly Hooper. You always have.”

A cheeky grin bloomed on her face. “I know. You’re actually quite an easy man to surprise.” Her hands trailed down his body and her right hand lightly gripped his cock. Sherlock gasped and buried his face against her neck. “See what I mean?”

“Only you, Molly. You’re the one who can always surprise me,” he whispered, recovering his wits and looking up at her. “Are you sure?”

Molly giggled, her thumb brushing against the head of his cock. “For god’s sake, Sherlock, yes! I literally have your cock in my hand and would very much like it inside me. Now get to it!” One of her legs curled up and over his hip, opening her up and placing him right at her entrance.

He’d never followed direction quite so quickly before, he thought to himself as he pushed inside of Molly. His hands slipped underneath her, holding her close. He bottomed out inside her and his head went to her neck again, panting against her skin as she stroked her fingertips along his scarred back. “I love you,” he whispered.

He lifted his head to look at her as he said it again. “I love you, Molly.”

There were tears shimmering in her eyes and for a moment he was afraid that he was hurting her. He prepared to lift himself off of her, but the hands on his back pushed him down again. He looked up at her and the tears were still there, but she also had a bright smile on her face. “I love you too, Sherlock.” She let out a disbelieving laugh as her smile widened. “I love you too.”

She shifted her hips slightly, causing him to go just a little deeper into her. They both moaned at the sensation. “Please move, Sherlock,” she pleaded with him. “Make love to me.”

He nodded, moving his hips back slightly and then pushing forward again. He wasn’t able to really thrust into her – that would have required a slightly different position and he was quite content to be practically lying on top of her, surrounded by her. But his hips pulsed against hers and Molly certainly didn’t seem to be complaining. She whimpered and tugged his head down for a kiss.

He felt her hand sneak between their bodies and he felt a brief stab of guilt that he wasn’t able to just deduce what she needed. But they broke from their kiss and she smiled hazily up at him as he felt her hand move between them, driving her towards a release that he was already perilously close to.

Realizing just how close he was, Sherlock made to pull out, but Molly’s hand pressing on his bum stopped him. “Come inside me, Sherlock. I’m on the pill. I know you’re clean. I wouldn’t have jumped you here in the first place if I didn’t know,” she whispered, her hand squeezing the pert flesh of his arse, causing him to buck into her.

“You think of everything,” he whispered, ducking against her neck again as his hips sped up their movement. “I love you,” he murmured against her neck, realizing that he’d said it so many times already, but not caring at all about repeating himself.

It didn’t seem that Molly minded either. She suddenly tensed beneath him, moaning quietly as her hand furiously worked between them. “Oh Sherlock,” she breathed out, curling into him. “Oh my love,” she murmured, turning her head to his neck, her whispered words damp against his neck. “I love you.”

Sherlock growled and thrust one more time before feeling his release rushing through him. His hips moved on their own and he panted against her shoulder, his lips kissing and whispering words of love against the skin there.

He collapsed against her, but Molly didn’t seem to mind, as she took to stroking his back again. He adjusted slightly, moving his head down to her breasts and Molly giggled slightly as Sherlock gave a soft sound of contentment, nuzzling against her skin. “We’re going to have to clean ourselves up very carefully, unless you want to have an uncomfortable conversation with Mycroft about stains,” she murmured after a few moments.

Sherlock laughed and looked up at her, getting up his elbows and supporting his own weight again. “I don’t care. He was practically inviting it – said to make ourselves at home. And I fully intend on having you on the couch in Baker Street so…really we were just taking his words to heart.”

Molly swatted at his shoulder. “You know this isn’t what he meant.”

He lowered himself against her again and shrugged. Molly’s hands moved from his back to his hair, playing with the curls at the nape of his neck. “You’re awful.”

“But you love me,” he said confidently, his lips brushing against her skin.

She giggled. “I do. God help me, but I do.”

After a few more minutes of cuddling, Molly finally convinced Sherlock that they needed to get cleaned up and that he needed to eat something. They’d be going out to lunch like an ordinary couple. The idea didn’t seem scary or suffocating as it once had. It just seemed…nice.

Sherlock had tossed a box of tissues to Molly as he gathered up their clothes. She got up from the couch, awkwardly holding the used tissues in her hand. Sherlock looked at her curiously. “I feel bad just…tossing them in the bin here.”

He rolled his eyes and grabbed the tissues from her and threw them in the bin next to him. He then held out a hand to her. She giggled and grabbed his hand, following as he led her from the library and towards the guest room he’d claimed. “You know…before you delete the video of that from the closed circuit system…do you think you could make a copy?”

Sherlock stopped, halfway up the stairs, and turned to Molly with wide eyes. “Molly!”

She giggled and moved past him so instead of being a step below, she was a step above him. She turned back and playfully kissed him. “Oh don’t be a prude, Sherlock.”


End file.
